So last night Ax and I were snuggling in the dark a while after lights out and he’s wiggling and tossing and turning and wiggling and so I say, “Ax, please stop wiggling.” And he says, “I can’t.” And I say, “Then move away and don’t wiggle on me.” And the kid bursts into tears. Real ones, I could tell. Sheesh. I just wanted to go to sleep and now I’ve got to clean up this mess.
“Honey, honey, honey,” I say, wrapping him under my wing and wiping his face with my nightshirt. “Honey, honey, honey,” gently rocking him. “I’m sorry honey are you crying because I said move away?”
He sniffles, “Yee-es.” The tears are subsiding and now most of his torso is lying over my arm and his hot head is kind of head-butting nuzzling into my face.
“Ok, sweetie, ok,” I say, kissing his head. I squirm into a less uncomfortable position. He tosses and turns and wiggles a bit more, his whole body bashing awkwardly into mine, then falls asleep. I roll over and away and eventually do the same.
Some nights are rougher than others. I’m grateful for all of them. Mike and I are banking on the fact that one day he just won’t want to sleep with us and he’ll go into his own bed then. That’s how we’re going to phase out co-sleeping. Until then I’m going to enjoy it, even on the rough nights. I’m going to keep going.